Flashlights Off
by Mesataki
Summary: Do you know why?


It was stifling – unbearably hot. Sweat permeated through her skin and soaked into her garments as she stumbled away from the slaughter. Too warm. Her hands clawed at her jacket, clumsy fingers forgetting how to pull down the zipper, and all the while, still staggering to anywhere. Anywhere, but here, at least. She didn't know why she was still – or why those monster even left her alone, but her miraculous survival was easily overshadowed by the weight of their deaths.

Maybe she should've listened to the… the… why couldn't she remember it? The box with lights and people in it. Don't go to school. Don't run today. Just stay home, but no – she was so sure, so _confident_ that it would all blow over. She was past believing this was just a scare. It was a nightmare, and there were those who were already… undone. Bones spearing through pale flesh, innards spilling out in the hot, blinding sun – all over the black asphalt where it baked and reeked. Blood had been everywhere – and all over her… her outer skin.

Too hot.

And there was a headache that made everything all blurry. All the fine lines and shapes she used to be able to see melded away into a swirl of too-bright colors that persistently span around, and around, and around, and – she fell to her knees and regurgitated what little she had in her stomach, and when that was all gone, she just continued to dry heave. The pain was obstinate and started to ring loudly in her ears. It was deafening and mixed her up so much, she didn't know where down or up was anymore, let alone left or right. They were just sounds with no meaning to her, and she quickly found there were a lot of things slipping her mind.

Like where she lived or the name of her parents. What was _her_ name? And what was she doing here? A sharp stabbing headache quickly conditioned her not to think too hard, but she couldn't help feel that was missing something. Or rather, she felt as if she was missing _everything_. This strange sort of emptiness left her with a hunger to fill it up. Her friends. She had them. What were their names? Was it…? No, no… Something like…? She couldn't remember, and even if she kept it up, try after try was met with failure until the pain had stacked so high, she couldn't even think straight – and then everything was beginning to get dark. How long had she been walking? The warmth on her face disappeared but the heat did not.

Debris snagged at her feet, and she fell forward, ghostly skin scraped by the rough concrete. Feeling in her legs seemed to disappear until all she could do was just curl up, hands pressing against the side of her head. And still it rang – a groan was pulled from her throat. Tears welled up, constricting her throat so hard, she almost didn't think she would be able to breathe. And yet, when she drew breath, she exhaled in a shaky sob.

She couldn't keep going like this. Help, she wanted to say. Where is everyone…? She found she couldn't, and every time she opened up her mouth, a fresh wave of sorrow seemed to flood in until it felt like something was strangling her. So she stayed, just crying even if there were no more tears to shed.

There was loss in her – a loss of something great and essential to the very core of her being. Strong, maddening emotions were the causative and instrumental in stripping her of the one aspect when conjoined with the devastating agent born from the labs of men. Grief and rage were the twins here, and they alone dictate her actions.

How else would she have reacted when they rounded the corner? Their bright lights were like the sun, blinding and mocking her very existence. Anger curdled through her, drawn from fury that no one could hope to diminish. She began to stand up, intending to eliminate those who would dare disturb her so, and when the flash of pain caught the side of her face, a great dam had burst. She screeched – leaping at the source of her pain with astonishing speed, claws held wide open and stretched – ready for their bloody application.

Within the smallest fraction of a second, blood splattered on the ground. Organs stretched out from the body – ripped from the hollow cavity of the chest. It had been a man. Not a light. Not a monster. But a man. And she had forced him to pay a price too high for a minor infraction. Screams of horror reached her – and she hastily clamped her red-stained hands on her sensitive ears. Pain hailed her body as she ran, but she did not retaliate. Too consumed was she in the thought of her cruel actions. How could she? Why did she?

The questions continued – half sentient in her losing grasp of consciousness. And she ran as far as she could before she stopped. Tears were back, and grief assumed control again. She stumbled to the ground where she managed to sit despite the weakness in her emaciated body begging her to lie down.

Her mind in a constant blender, it seemed the only moments of lucidity that would ever clear her head was in the aftermath of killing. That was all there was to it - the most important aspect she had lost was something that had once separated her from the monster. Without logic, without empathy, she was devoid of her humanity and was a simple puppet spurned to violent action by rage and mollified only by paralyzing despair. She had become one of them - the special, dangerous ones within the horde of the mindless.

There would be other victims to her fury, and the survivors of such an attack would never forget the look of her or her terrible anger.

They called her a witch.


End file.
